


A Tribute to the Beautiful and Always Regal June Ellington

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 18:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: I’m interrupting my “White Collar Discussions” series to post this story that I wrote today. The summary is all in the title. After Diahann Carroll’s passing yesterday on October 4, 2019, I thought her longtime White Collar character deserved a story all her own. I hope the indomitable June Ellington will live on in our memories as Neal’s sweet and ever stalwart ally. If we keep watching the old White Collar episodes or reading the fanfiction, she will continue to make us love her even more.





	A Tribute to the Beautiful and Always Regal June Ellington

June slid gracefully from the backseat of the Jaguar when the chauffeur deferentially opened the door. She declined his help carrying the unwieldly garment bag into the thrift store. This was something she was determined to accomplish on her own. It wasn’t really an errand she wanted to do, but it was a beginning gesture that would satisfy her children. Their father had been gone for a while and they claimed it was “time” for her to begin the process of moving on with living. Of course, her two offspring mourned their father in their own way, but their lives were busier and more hectic than hers, and they couldn’t afford to take a hiatus from their responsibilities and sink down into a deep morass of extended grief. They meant well, but they certainly couldn’t begin to comprehend losing a soulmate who had been by her side for over fifty years. Now, at least, she could say that she had taken the first step, even if it was just one vintage suit and a classic fedora. Even that choice had been more difficult than she had anticipated.

Not long after Byron’s passing, her daughters had ferried their father’s clothes to the third floor loft. “Just store them away for now,” they advised like wise oracles. “When you’re ready, you can donate them to the needy.” June wondered if these grown children guilelessly thought that by hiding Byron’s things away so she wouldn’t see them in the closet each morning, her heart would begin to heal. She forgave them their naivete. They hadn’t lived long enough quite yet to understand deep abiding grief that never truly dissipated. It was always there like a throbbing in her chest. That sensation was probably the reason people gave it a name—heartache. You didn’t ever truly banish grief; you just came to terms with it like living with a disability.

She certainly didn’t want to become a dinosaur mired down in the tar pits of yesterday, so she tried to keep busy, just as her family and friends had suggested. She became involved in various charities and was on the board of some prestigious cultural institutions. But it didn’t satisfy her soul. It was tedious and boring and nothing like the thrilling exploits through the years with her husband. It only served to make her feel insular and adrift. She would find herself rattling through her huge mansion during the dark hours of sleeplessness like Marley’s ghost dragging her personal chains of loneliness behind her. Of course, she wasn’t truly alone. She had live-in help, but she couldn’t possibly interrupt their rest by asking them to join her in a glass of Drambuie or to share the last piece of cheesecake from the refrigerator.

So, quite often, June would climb those three long flights of stairs to what had become her sanctuary—not quite a shrine, but close enough. She would unzip each garment bag and run her fingers over the worsted wool and buttons of the double-breasted suits, and the senses of sight and touch would evoke images of Byron in his glory years. How could she possibly choose which one to donate? She realized it was irrational, but she knew in her heart that Byron would be upset if he somehow returned and found one of his favorite outfits missing.

But Byron wouldn’t be coming back; the insidious cancer made sure of that. Her stalwart companion had always seemed invincible, until he wasn’t anymore. June would remember the early years in their journey together and sigh. They hadn’t always been days of wine and roses. The two star-crossed young lovers had met so very long ago in the 1950s, both growing up in Harlem during a different era when “coloreds” couldn’t drink from certain water fountains or sit with whites at lunch counters. It was just the way it was, but two young people were determined to get out from under and change the course of their lives. Without clever, witty, and charming Byron, it never would have happened—none of it, not the slick robberies, shameless counterfeiting, or the raucous illegal gambling that happened exactly on the spot where she was standing. It had been a wild ride, but June’s soulmate was determined to come out on top. Of course, there was that little hiccup and a stint in prison. When Byron had come home, June made him promise to leave the life and certain unsavory characters behind. At that point in time, they were monetarily quite comfortable, and he didn’t need to take anymore risks with his freedom.

~~~~~~~~~~

The little bell over the door of the thrift shop pulled June from her reverie as she entered. It wasn’t a very large establishment, and today she saw only one other person browsing through a rack of men’s shirts. The proprietress quickly approached her new client who was laying out an elegant, if dated, man’s suit and a spiffy fedora onto the counter.

“I’d like to donate these,” June had murmured in her regal, well-modulated voice. In the blink of an eye, she found that the other customer had quickly sidled up close to admire Byron’s things. She took note of the handsome face and the unruly mop of hair and realized that not only did this young man need a haircut, he also needed something more substantial than the t-shirt and thin black peacoat he was wearing.

June was an astute woman, and had learned to take a person’s measure in a heartbeat. That unique quality served you well when you were running a con, and she and Byron had mastered the trick with impressive panache. She now turned to face this potential customer and read him like a book. He smiled beguilingly and said all the right words, but she easily saw beneath the brittle veneer. He was desperate and wanting, and she remembered that feeling all too well from her early years in the segregated neighborhood of her youth. She let him drone on about Sy Devore and the Rat Pack, and she smiled benignly when he flipped the hat onto his head and rewarded her with the full wattage of that dangerous smile. He thought he was charming her, and she let him think she was an easy mark. Actually, she was the one to lead him on with promises of many more pieces of wardrobe apparel. Undoubtedly, this handsome young man was a scoundrel, but an adorable one. As he followed her out to her waiting car, she began to think that perhaps Byron had sent this boy her way so she could begin to live again. That brought a welcome feeling of déjà vu and it made her heart a little lighter.

When they reached June’s impressive home, her chauffer hovered behind her shoulder in the loft like a diligent sentry while Neal tried on several suit coats, bubbling enthusiasm falling like honey from his lips. Finally, June waved her uneasy protector away and turned to face the fervent younger one. “You don’t have to try so hard, my boy,” she said softly. “Everything can be yours if you want it. But let me be clear, Neal. These things are meant for you, and I won’t tolerate them being sold on the street like seedy attic finds to improve your situation. Now, young man, explain to me just exactly what your situation is without any lies.”

Neal looked like a beautiful butterfly pinned to a board in an entomologist’s display case as he listened to those ominous words. He hesitated for a few seconds trying to gauge the perceptive mien of his new benefactress. June was doing exactly the same thing, watching him for any tells or signs of deceit. She was relieved when she finally noted the fleeting, almost undetectable expression of capitulation. The story he told her seemed honest without the trappings of embellishment or deviousness. She knew it hadn’t been easy for this proud boy to admit his shortcomings. To him, being caught by the FBI, not once, but twice, was embarrassing. By the end of the confession, Neal had not only acquired an extensive collection of clothes. He had also landed himself in the lap of luxury, and June couldn’t wait to meet his handler and rub the Federal Agent’s nose in Neal’s good fortune.

To June’s delight, her new boarder gave her a renewed lease on life. His infectious grins, his zest for living, and his easy-going temperament won her over in record time. Neal would regale her with outrageous hypothetical war stories over dinner, and often grow melancholy over glasses of fine wine long after midnight. June gave him his space, never pushing or probing, but she also never failed to listen if he wanted to talk.

Not long after Neal’s arrival, she found that he came with certain accoutrements, namely a strange and quirky little man named Mozzie. In only a heartbeat, June imagined herself as part of a nefarious crew of misfits. She felt happy and alive, and even reveled in plucking a Special Agent’s nerves whenever he made an appearance in her home. It was fun and exhilarating, and she felt she had found a new niche looking after an unrepentant felon. He was a decade younger than her own children, but he also had years of illegal experience under his belt. She sometimes abetted his schemes, and, at other times, she was his confidante. She felt something like pity when he finally felt secure enough to tell her about his childhood and the abandonment that entailed. June could never imagine leaving your child adrift because you couldn’t seem to cope with the harshness of reality. June was also wise enough never to let Neal hear a judgmental sentiment fall from her lips. In the end, that confession just endeared him to her even more, and she wanted to protect him and keep him safe.

June always kept her word to her “one of a kind” adopted son. Although she loved him dearly, she knew their time together had an expiration date. The trick was letting go gracefully even though you were falling apart inside. There had been three incidences when he left her home, but she had actually only bid him goodbye twice. The first time she had expected the departure, being privy to the information that he had finally managed to finagle a deal to grab his girl and begin a new life. But Fate was a cruel creature and had other plans for Neal. Later, a worried June knew he had come to experience the deep abiding grief that she had endured for years after Byron left her alone and bereft. A little part of Neal died along with Kate that cold winter day, and there was nothing anyone could do to ease his pain. After that tragedy, June found herself becoming a bit more tolerant of Peter Burke as the Agent tried to pull his CI back from a deep abyss. She and Peter weren’t actually co-conspirators, but they did share intel regarding Neal’s profound depression and dark moods that he valiantly tried to hide behind a bland façade. They both wanted to help in any way they could, but neither could formulate a workable plan.

Eventually, the young con man managed to find an even keel on his own, and over the ensuing years, there were the occasional young women who found their way into his bed. But June wasn’t fooled, even if Neal was trying to fool himself. You don’t just close the door on the past as if it never happened. It leaves scars and forever changes you. June watched as Neal transformed even more over time, becoming less trusting of his handler and finally abandoning jaded dreams of an end to his parole.

“It’s never going to happen, June,” he told her earnestly. “I was a fool to ever believe in the judicial system. It’s more despicable that the worst crooks.”

“How can I help, my sweet boy?” June asked with tears in her eyes.

It was an outrageous and dangerous plan, but Neal was determined to be free, or die trying to get far beyond the long arm of the law. June agreed to lend assistance. She had the means and some trusted contacts who were never on the FBI’s radar simply because they had retired from the life years before Neal was even born. June did her part arranging for a private jet to deliver a valuable package to an elegant apartment nestled on a Paris side street. The venerable white marble building with its large luxurious suites had been a favorite getaway for her and Byron, and a devoted husband had purchased the penthouse for his beloved wife. Now it would be Neal’s safe haven. Today, June was smiling to herself because she had her own plan in mind. It had been over a year, so perhaps it was time for her to go on a little shopping trip to the private haute couture fashion houses on the Champs-Elysees. It was also time to renew an old friendship.


End file.
